It's High Noon somewhere, but not here
by Arbitually
Summary: Jesse McCree, internationally wanted outlaw and gunman. Crack shot with his Peacekeeper, and last of the Old West's cowboys. Current Residence: Overwatch HQ, Gibraltar. Occupation: Resident Emotional Cleanser...
1. It's Highnoon Somewhere, But Not Here

Jesse McCres is many things. Outlaw, last of the cowboys, former Blackwatch member, and current Overwatch member. He was a crack shot with his Peacekeeper, always handy in a fight, and could make a mean tostado when given enough time and ingredients.

He was also not blind to people's actions.

As a man known for his quick draw, he knows the body's action. Doctor Ziegler might be a licensed and famed practitioner, but he could spot the tell of a gunman from the barest hint of movement.

Seeing his colleagues in Overwatch skirt around each other like some high school teenagers was way easy to the point of painful.

Which is why he finds himself starring in absolute bafflement when problems that could easily be seen and solved, are stalwartly ignored.

"Hanzo, partner, please remind me that everyone in 'ere is a trained individual and not some ranch greenhorn ," he droned. The Japanese man only grunted his part as he inspected his arrows. McCree only sighed.

Hanzo was also one of his "ranch greenhorns". Though he followed his brother's calling, the two had yet to actually exchange words in their off time. In fact, the most McCres has ever seen the two interact was when Genji was practicing one of his sword forms, and Hanzo "accidentally" entered the same room as him. He apologized and left. That was it.

Hands in his pockets, he went through the corridors of the Gibraltar HQ and saw some more green horns. Namely Soldier 76 and Reaper, or Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes.

McCres sighed as he saw the two "ex-friends" glare angrily at each other from their sides on the firing field. Though both wore their masks, it was very easy to tell that they still didn't "come to terms" with what became of the old Overwatch.

 _Then again..._ McCree's eyes glanced down as his cybernetic prosthetic arm. The large explosion that had "killed" both Morrison and Reyes, left him short of an arm.

"Get your disgusting tools of anarchy out of my space!"

"Love, see this line? That's my area, so you can buzz off before one me toys explode."

McCree made a beeline away from that area. Lord knows that area was a ticking time bomb, figuratively and literally. Between Junkrat's toys, Symetra's tools, or Torbjorn's turrets, he didn't know what would blow first.

McCree rolled out of the way from a flying pot. Looking up to see if it was safe, he mumbled something rude. Mother and daughter fighting was never a good thing to see.

And while he prided himself on his well traveled tendencies and his rather wide range of known languages, Arabic was not one of them. He could sweet talk a lady in Spanish, Chinese, Gallic, German, or Italian, but he wouldn't dare trying that with one the Amari ladies.

He didn't fancy being accidentally "blown up" or "pin pricked" on the next mission, no sir. He also knew that they were happy to see each other, just not after the current circumstance.

He was frankly happy that Ana was alive, that women saved his sorry hide on more than one occasion. He also knew that the women really didn't want her daughter to follow her path as a military women.

"C'mon love! Slow down! You gotta talk to me some time! You're free from Talon, you can talk to me!"

"..."

Someone roughly pushed past McCree in a hurried stride. A blue streak zoomed past his nose.

"Sorry Jesse!"

McCree felt like he should let this all slide. Let all their offish aggression to each other pan out. But it was just so pointless, the cowboy wondered if he should take Fremch leave. Or just simply quit the whole kit and caboodle and make for the dusty west again.

It was never confusing.

When he came upon the garden, he smiled pleasantly. Green was always a better sight to one's eyes than dusty brown. Especially so when the two resident Omnics, Zenyatta and Bastion, interacted with the bird folk around them.

Unlike most, McCree really didn't care for the whole "Murderus Omnic Rampages" most people have been yammering about since way back in the first crisis. As far as he was concerned, that was a job. Be it human, machine, drone, turret, or construct, if it got in his way, it was an enemy. If it didn't, he could care less.

"Ah, Mister McCree, it is nice to see you." McCree looked to see Zenyatta float over to him. He tipped his hat to the monk.

"Pleasure as well Zenyatta," he responded.

"I sense discord in your heart." McCree had to bite back some laughter. Of course, the only other person who would understand what he saw would be Zenyatta. The Omnic had all his "monk spiritual witchcraft" about him to help out.

"You could say that," he chuckled as he sat on a bench. A bird choose this time float onto the brim of his hat. "You could say that team dynamics, ain't the greatest since everyone started to grind axes."

"Yes. Much discord lies in the hearts of former friends and brothers. Some more than others." Zenyatta nodded sagely as a bird flew over onto his extended finger. "Bastion has questioned to why such things have not been resolved."

"Humans are stubborn folk, Zen," McCree lamented. "We get caught up with feuds, grudges, and spats, to the point that we forget what we really fought for in the begginin."

"An astute observation Mister McCree," Zenyatta nodded.

"Please, call me Jesse. Mister McCree is my old man, and he certainly didn't like it when anyone called 'im that."

"My apologize Jesse," Zenyatta affirmed. "But it seems that you are an individual who doesn't let such affect you?" McCree let out a small bark of laughter.

"Call it the, "Western Education", if you will." His hand tapped his head. "My old man would say that city slickers are too smart fer their own good. Too smart to see what's in front of 'em, and simply try and find a "better" trail to follow. 'Course, this is the same man who'd be soaked well into the evening."

"An interesting man, your father," Zenyatta noted. McCree smirked under his hat.

"Yeah, he was. Taught me how to shoot, how to drink, everything, including not to be stuck with a solvable difficulty."

Zenyatta only hummed as the two, and Bastion, rested in the garden. With his hat tipped over his brow, McCree was content with this easy atmosphere.

' _Course... I could aid a fella or two out..._

* * *

 **Bleh, when I play something, I can't help but do fanfiction. At the same time, I like to practice how to write as well. Basically, I'm going to write McCree as this whole "voice of reason" at Overwatch because of the West mentality he's got.**

 **Let's be honest, every single lovable member of Overwatch as some major baggage they carry, except McCree. He could give less of shit to any problems of the past.**

 **Favorite, follow, and comment if you enjoyed. I might add more chapters or not...**


	2. Red Dead Douppelganger

**Okay, I actually had this written way before September, but I had wisdom teeth surgery, school starting, an accidental overdose of painkillers, and... Just a really bad series of unfortunate events. XD**

 **Anyway, we saw cool introspective McCree last chapter, get ready for cool McCree who tries to relate to 19 year Korean gamer girls!**

 **Warning: Bashing on "true otaku" culture, McCree suffering a sort of a mid life cirrhosis...**

 **Side Note: Wrote this on a Surface Pro, and I have no idea if the formatting got messed up or not** **(*/ω＼*)**

* * *

"You smell." McCree looked up from his smoke break to see the petite nineteen year old Korean girl in her body suit. He grimaced as he remember something Hanzo told him about this girl " " and her cult following.

He shivered. He really wished things were as simple as the West. Internet is fine, but what's on there, another shiver.

Luckily, as a gentleman, he did not fantasize about women like those, what did Hanzo call them, "otakus" in Japan. No, he preferred sophisticated, tall, and classy women. The kind who would go to dinner with six inch heels, and be able to break a horse in should the need arise.

Or maybe just as strange as them Otakus...

He really missed the West.

"Yeah, well your a rude 'un," he shot back. Leaning further back in his chair, he lit his roll up and let the homemade concoction relax him.

However from the corner of his eye, he saw that little Miss Hana Song wasn't budging from her position an arms length away from him. In fact she pulled out that little rectangle box and began to make little "tap tap" noises with it.

And so the two of them were like that. One smoking, and the other playing games. One teen, the other a grown grizzled man. Simply being basked by the light of the afternoon sun from the veranda of the HQ.

One of them broke.

"You look like one of my western game characters."

McCree nearly choked on his stomach. That statement was so sudden and sharp, the cowboy found himself short on the draw. Casting a puzzled look at the girl, he saw that she was still looking at the screen of her hand held.

"I'm sorry, but could you run that by me again?" He asked.

"John Marston. He's a cowboy. Like you." Her reply was short and curt. McCree once more thought how on Earth did this kid, because under any circumstance can she change that view he had of her, get into an organization of undead gunmen (shut up Reyes, you know that's true), vigilante soldiers, vengeful ninja brothers, German dragon slayers (he really needed to ask Reinhart when that even happened), and a time jumping English girl.

He was just a simple American Vagabond now that he thought about it. Of course, he had a bounty on his head worth millions, and this was before he joined Blackwatch…

"I doubt he's a really cowboy," he shot back. Now Hana looked at him, a pout on her face.

"Yeah he is, look." He soon found her hand held shoved in front of his face. He looked at the man in the center of the screen.

"Well I'll be damned, guess we could be two peas and a pod," he noted. Hana seemed smug with herself at his acceptance before taking her hand held back and began tapping it again.

"What model was that there piece in his hand?" McCree couldn't help himself from asking. Hana sent him a puzzled look, but decided to indulge his request. It was probably because the normally stoic cowboy looked interested in something for once.

"It says its a Volcanic pistol. Why, know something about it?" McCree leaned back in his chair.

"Well, I guess you could say it originated in 1848. At first, it was an early model lever action rifle, but got scrapped for bad design flaws. Later Smith and Wesson bought that design before being out bought themselves by Winchester later on." McCree went deep in thought. He knew somethings he said were probably false, but its been a while since he read up on "volcanic pistols". And by read up, he means being bored out his mind in dusty high school and cracked open one of the old history books.

"Wow, that's interesting," Hana acknowledged before going back to her game. McCree scowled.

 _Young 'uns these days never seem to care for their elders... My God, I sound like Reinhart!  
_  
McCree got a little afraid at his little epiphany. While he did respect the older man, and that the same man could most likely beat him into a agave juice, he tended to be much too loud for him.

Then he saw something that interested him greatly.

"Woah there little missy. What was that?" McCree's shocked Hana this time. She looked up to see his eyes wide as all can be as he stared at her handheld's screen.

She looked down at the screen and saw what he meant.

"You mean this?"

"Yes."

"This? Really, this?"

"Yes. That."

"You mean Dead Eye?"

"What in tarnation is Dead Eye?"

"Its a targeting method, allowing players to aim and select parts of a target to hit. Sometimes its in bullet time, others in real time," Hana explained.

McCree was silent for a long while as he stared at the handheld screen. Hana was a little unnerved by his stare. She really didn't "talk" to the man. Really, she didn't talk to anyone, except Tracer, and that's because they were roommates.

Everyone else were all older than her, or didn't share her hobby, gaming. The closest to her sort of tastes would be Lució, but he was music. While they might be able talk about things like OST's and such, that really didn't leave much for actual conversation. McCree on the other hand, she didn't know what to think of him.

Gamer girl and cowboy? How polar opposite can two be?

"... You got another one of those hand helds?" McCree asked. Hana's jaw dropped. "You alright Missy?"

"Y-Yeah, give me a sec!" she sputtered as she stood up. "There's a multiplayer function that we can play so that I can help you."

"Much obliged little lady," McCree tipped his hat at her before she ran back to her room.

Who would have known. Jesse McCree, last of the cowboys and crack shot himself, would have an interest in Old west games.

Hana could care less, actually. Instead, she was happy that someone would play video games with her!

* * *

 **So I got this little thing after playing Overwatch with my brother, then we got bored and played "Red Dead Redemption". He likes playing McCree because he likes to screw with people with High Noon, while I'm an avid fan of Junkrat/Reinhart (Suicide Charge Rah!).**

 **He said then said, "McCree would probably play Cowboy games if he could..."**

 **And that's how this was born. XD**

 **Also, Rockstar would so totally make enough sequels for the "Red Dead" series!**

 **Thanks for reading everyone! I hope you like it, and remember to favorite, follow, review, etc.**

 **See y'all when I next crawl out of Juvenile Purgatory known as High School...**


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